


Toe

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: Pick Me Up [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Arizona Coyotes | Phoenix Coyotes, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Biting, M/M, Pick-Up Lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13980525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "Actually, the best thing about Jake isn’t just that he’s there, or that he’s good to talk to, though both things are true. It’s that he’s big in the same way a Great Dane puppy is big; when he’s relaxed he forgets where his limbs really end, forever edging into Max’s personal space and stubbing his toes on things that have been in the same place since before he moved in.All that plus his face is enough to make Max want to do some truly filthy shit sometimes."





	Toe

They were supposed to be better than this, and it irks Max every time someone brings it up. But he bites his tongue and gets through it, because he has to. His dad’s shadow may be shaped a little differently than his own, but it’s big, with a presence like the man himself, and Max really doesn’t need to go breaking his hand. Not again, anyway.

So he doesn’t let it bite.

It maybe helps, a little bit, that someone will be waiting for him when he finally escapes here. It definitely helps that _someone_ is Jake.

\--

Jake has his own reasons to be upset this year, obviously, and they’re a lot better than the ones Max is so bitter about. Still, it’s fun to have a sympathetic ear to commiserate with, and it’s probably a good thing for both of them, too. Or, if they don’t want to cope, they can distract each other, block out all the bullshit. It’s maybe not as healthy to pretend the problems don’t exist, but Max isn’t really into dwelling on it every single day.

But even if Jake wasn’t good company, he’d still be company, and Max has never liked being alone. That, more than his diabetes, was why he’d gotten Orion in the first place. Orion is, of course, a very good dog, and good at his job, and Max wouldn’t trade him for anything, but… well, dogs don’t talk. So Max had let Jake move in, and the kid has yet to move out.

Actually, the best thing about Jake isn’t just that he’s there, or that he’s good to talk to, though both things are true. It’s that he’s big in the same way a Great Dane puppy is big; when he’s relaxed he forgets where his limbs really end, forever edging into Max’s personal space and stubbing his toes on things that have been in the same place since before he moved in.

All that plus his face is enough to make Max want to do some truly filthy shit sometimes.

\--

If there’s a way his condition makes his life easier instead of harder, it’s that he can use it as an excuse for things sometimes. He tries not to do it very much, because he doesn’t want excuses, but sometimes it’s necessary, for politeness’ sake if no other reason. If he says something truly stupid, he can claim his low blood sugar made him a bit loopy. More importantly, he can blame it being too high if he starts to get, say, a little aggressive.

It’s not daddy issues, as he told his last shrink. He never really watched his dad fight, and he didn’t go home after breaking his hand on Hathaway’s face to have a lengthy wrong-handed jerk-off session either. Maybe it’s a size thing, a control thing, he can’t rule either of them out, but no matter why it is, it’s not weird for him to like things a little bit rough in the bedroom.

It does make it slightly more difficult to find casual partners, though.

\--

They may be inexplicably awful, but they have to win sometimes, and Jake comes out with the team when they do. (He comes out when they don’t, too, but this time it’s a win, and a good one at that.)

Max is still riding the all-too-rare adrenaline high of it, buoyed further by his own contributions. For all the talk about not wanting to get too low after losses, they start to weigh on you after a while, no matter how good you are at letting them go, and the feeling of that weight lifted makes him even more giddy.

There’s no shortage of attractive people in this bar. It’s a sea of beautiful possibility; Max wants to hold _her_ up against a wall until his muscles scream, wants to blow _him_ until his chapped lip cracks and he can taste his own blood, wants _Jake_ to pin him down and - 

Someone politely clears his throat from the next barstool over. “Hi,” he says, when Max turns to face him.

“Hi,” Max returns, guarded. He checks the guy out, automatically, absently; he’s dark and lean and not bad looking. Probably couldn’t pin Max, if he’s being completely honest with himself, but there are other things to do.

But the guy just sits there after Max has looked him up and down, like this has always been enough for him, like just being looked at is enough for him to get a guy into bed (or the bathroom, he doesn’t really look like the picky type). At last, though, he asks, “Alright, how much does a polar bear weigh?”

“Not enough to crush all the people who’ve used that one,” Max says with a sigh, and goes back to his teammates feeling just a little defeated.

Dvo laughs in his face when he explains what happened, and honestly Max doesn’t blame him for it much. Kells, on the other hand, looks interested, which is rarely a good thing. 

“Is it all pickup lines, or just that one? What if I told you that you have a nice body, would you-”

“Get fucked,” Max says, automatically.

“Oh, but Domes, you have such a pretty smile,” Dvo manages to get out, and Max socks him in the arm.

“Are you my toe?” Jake asks then, completely straight-faced. Dvo loses it again.

“This had better not be another joke about-” Max starts.

“‘Cause I’d bang you on every piece of furniture I own!” Jake finishes, grinning. Kells nearly falls off his chair, saved just in the nick of time by Daddy, who smiles like he knows something and wanders off.

“You fucker,” Max says, a little too loud. “It’s not even your furniture!”

Dauphs and Fischy glance up at that one, looking curious in spite of themselves, and Dvo goes off into fits one more time, with Kells dabbing at his eyes and chuckling. Jake doesn’t join in, just pauses, considering, and says, “Well I guess I’m _your_ toe then.”

“Oh my god,” says Max, gobsmacked. “Fuck you guys, I’m leaving.” 

They’re all laughing too hard to try to stop him.

\--

Jake catches him in the parking lot. “Going to the same place, right?”

\--

They drive home in silence, Max ignoring the flush he knows is creeping up his neck. He’s pretty sure he can feel Jake’s eyes burning into him, that if he looked over he could catch him in the act and they could talk about this, whatever it is. He’s pretty sure part of the reason Jake is staring is that he wants to be caught.

He doesn’t look.

\--

Max pulls into the garage and closes the door. He kind of wants to sit there and think about his many, many poor decisions, but Jake is still in the passenger seat staring at him and he can’t actually deal with that for much longer. So he goes in.

Orion’s tags jingle in the darkness, and suddenly he has the comforting weight of his dog leaning against his legs. Max pats him and lets him scent until he pads back down the hallway, satisfied that everything’s fine. Feeling much less frustrated, Max stands to follow him.

Someone grabs his shoulder and shoves him against the wall.

“I was serious, you know,” Jake says, breath hot on his ear, and Max can’t help himself anymore. He grabs Jake’s hips, pushing him up against the other wall like he’s wanted to do for way too long.

Jake flinches.

Max freezes. Maybe he’d meant something else? Maybe he had meant what Max thought but wasn’t into anything… less than tender?

But Jake leans down and kisses him, hesitantly, carefully, and says, “Sorry, just paranoia about my leg. It’s fine.”

He’s not sure whether Jake means the sex or the leg, but it doesn’t matter. “Bed, then,” says Max, leaning on Jake a little harder. “We can work on the rest of the furniture later.”

\--

They make it down the hall eventually, stumbling into Jake’s room, since it’s closer. “Take your pants off,” Max says, kissing down Jake’s neck and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. There’s a clink as his belt falls to the floor, taking his pants with it, and he steps out of them, closer still to Max.

Jake hauls him in by the collar, kissing the breath out of him. Then, with two quick jerks and a mess of flying buttons, Max’s shirt is on the floor and Jake’s teeth are on his collarbone. “You dick, I liked that shirt,” he says, wrestling Jake onto the bed and sitting on him.

“Pink really isn’t your colour,” Jake retorts, and keeps his eyes on Max as he slowly and carefully finishes unbuttoning. When he’s done, Max slides his hands up Jake’s freshly exposed torso, pins his shoulders, and kisses him again. Jake surges to meet him, nipping at his lower lip; his hips jerk up, and suddenly Max is the one with his back on the bed, Jake’s weight pressing him into the sheets.

There’s a dick poking against his hip - _Jake’s_ dick is poking against his hip - and suddenly Max loses what little semblance of patience he was still hanging on to. He wants, very badly, to know what Jake looks like with his face flushed not from heat or from hockey, but from _him_. So Max gets his hand between them, under Jake’s ridiculous, perfectly fitted boxer-briefs, and begins to jerk him off.

Jake makes a noise that could, uncharitably, be called a squeak. Fumblingly, one-handed, he attempts to unbutton Max’s jeans. His expression when he tries is the same as the focus he shows on the ice, intense and burning and determined and _very hot_. Better still is the face he makes when he gets Max’s zipper down and discovers that Max skipped the boxers tonight.

“You fucking planned this, didn’t you?” he asks, but it’s clearly rhetorical; he was at the bar too. Besides that, he’s already teasing Max’s dick with calloused fingers by the time he manages to hum his agreement. “You fucker,” Jake says, and starts trying his best to suck a giant hickey into the crook of Max’s shoulder.

They lay like that for some time, jerking each other off quick and rough, Max saying pretty much every word that comes into his head and Jake breathing heavy against his skin, lips and teeth and tongue trying to work him up by marking him up. It’s getting too smooth, too easy, too tame, though, and Max already feels too comfortable, so he reaches up with his spare hand at last and tries pinching Jake’s nipple, giving his other hand a little twist as he does so, and Jake accidentally bites him just a little too hard.

He breaks the skin.

“Fuck,” says Max feeling the sharp sting of it, and comes, hand stuttering on Jake’s dick as he follows after.

\--

They almost oversleep.

There’s no time to shower or talk or even think about it; all they can really do is hope it’s not awkward, and that nobody at practice notices they smell like stale come and each other.

Nobody does, and Max breathes a sigh of relief at that.

But he really shouldn’t have let his guard down, because there are still three puncture marks in his shoulder and now Dvo is giggling uncontrollably. Again.

“Vampire attack you?” he gasps out, leaning on a puzzled Ollie as he shakes with laughter. Max just rolls his eyes, shoots him the bird, and heads to his car.

Smiling, Jake joins him a minute or two later. They get in.

Max doesn’t turn the ignition. Instead the two of them sit quietly for a few minutes until Jake licks his lips, clears his throat, and finally speaks.

“I want you to fuck me on the coffee table today,” he says, with his usual serious, determined expression, and Max can’t start the engine fast enough.

**Author's Note:**

> \- This isn't really the one I was hoping to start the series with, and the Canucks _almost_ managed to pull out the first elimination, but nope. This was the first one written by a long way.  
>  \- If you do accidentally bite someone too hard make sure you disinfect it, mouths are gross. Also: the human jaw is apparently strong enough that you could theoretically bite through your own teeth.  
> \- All the diabetes stuff is based on Domi's own descriptions, as is his attitude towards his dog. I'd link the article if I'd had the foresight to include it in my notes for this, but I did not.  
> \- "If i told you that you had a nice body" has not made its last appearance in this series, don't worry.  
> \- And they lived happily ever after, all their fights about politics devolving into sex.


End file.
